


Queen Consort

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insecurity, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Marriage of Three, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Role Reversal, Sex on the Iron Throne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Daenerys lets herself be ruled.





	Queen Consort

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [the kinks I do for love prompt](https://thekinksidoforlove.dreamwidth.org/595.html?thread=70995#cmt70995): "[Show] Dany/Sansa+oral. Dany makes her fantasy become reality when she asks Sansa to sit on The Iron Throne, so can go down on Sansa, while wearing her Crown."

She's bright white, her skin standing out against the dark metal of the throne, gold and iron band wrapped around her red hair.  _She looks beautiful up there_ , thinks Dany.

“Daenerys,” Sansa says, surprised. “Your Grace. I was not expecting you back for a few days.”

“You don't have to call me that when we're alone,” she says, smiling to herself. Sansa blushes faintly. “Jon sent me ahead by a few days,” she explains. “He had a few things to sort out on Dragonstone.”

Sansa nods and starts to rise from the seat. Dany raises a hand to stop her. “Wait.”

She looks surprised. The throne is shared between the three of them, even if alone in their marriage Sansa has no blood claim to it, but she knows they both expect her to take the seat whenever she can. Perhaps there is still an instinct in her that thinks the Iron Throne is hers, by right, that resents having to share – even if Jon's claim is technically above hers. But Sansa has no claim at all. None of them truly have the crown by right of blood, and also... she loves them. That complicates matters.

Dany slowly walks up the steps, while Sansa relaxes as much as is possible among the spikes, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. Dany smiles as she leans over, letting her lips linger but an inch from Sansa's, looking down over her wife's pale skin coated in a loose black silk dress. “I love the way you look on that throne,” she whispers. “Strong, dark, forboding. The things you could do to me if I put a toe out of line.”

Sansa seems bemused, but Dany notices the shiver that goes through her. Sansa, after everything she's been through, takes a certain primal delight in being seen as someone to be feared. Daenerys can relate. “Is that a good thing?”

Dany smiles before pecking her on the lips. “It can be,” she says, and thinks Sansa should know that. Both her and Jon have let her be the Mother of Dragons in their bedchamber more than once before, and Dany thinks it's only fair for her to repay the favour. “I have thought about it,” she muses. “You, here, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And me...” she smiles and drops to her knees.

“Oh,” says Sansa, breathless, and clearly caught off-guard. Dany imagines Sansa never thought she'd want such a thing. “Well. It's a shame Jon isn't back yet to watch; he'd feel terrible about it, but he'd love this.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Daenerys murmurs as she pushes Sansa's skirt up above her waist, and Sansa raises her hips up off the seat to help her. Dany bites her lip as she eyes Sansa's wet cunt, surrounded by a mound of thick red curls, unobstructed by any small clothes.  _I'm a bad influence on her_ , she thinks.

“Someone might see us,” Sansa whispers.

“Let them see,” Dany shrugs, and leans in to give Sansa's slit one brief flick of her tongue. Sansa gasps. Dany cares little for petty taboos. “It's not as if everyone doesn't know we're married.”

“Technically, they only know for sure we're both married to Jon,” but Dany cares even less for technicalities. She takes Sansa's nub between her lips and sucks gently, earning a long, deep groan from her wife's mouth.

Suddenly her hair is yanked harshly, enough to make Dany gasp. She looks up to see Sansa staring down at her with cold blue eyes. “As your queen, stop teasing and get on with it,” she orders in a hard voice, the same voice she uses when dispensing justice in the royal court.

Daenerys shivers. She fantasised about kneeling before Sansa and letting the queen command her, but she half didn't expect it to happen. Ugly memories stir a moment, the thought of her brother, but Dany takes a breath and manages to conquer them. This is Sansa, the wife who loves her. Daenerys can trust her, can give her body over to her. And if there is anyone in the Seven Kingdoms who would know not to go too far, it is Sansa.

She nods and sets to work eating Sansa's cunt properly, lowering her head to run her tongue up and down the folds, grasping Sansa's thighs and making when noises as she moves. Sansa moans and knots her legs around Dany's shoulders, her soft hands tangling in Dany's hair, urging her on.

Dany feels encircled, but it does not bother her as it once might have. It has the atmosphere of a warm embrace. She pushes her tongue inside Sansa's entrance and fucks her with it, earning a choked gasp, before she pulls back and returns to the nub, sucking hard and fast, making her wife give a brief cry.

Sansa digs her nails into Dany's scalp. “Harder,” she orders.

Dany obeys, sucking the nub as fast as her lips can manage while one of her hands moves between Sansa's legs, pushing two fingers inside her. Sansa gasps and squirms, forcing her in deeper. Then she laughs breathlessly. “You'll make me cut myself,” she warns.

“I won't,” Dany says, pulling back to speak. “The Iron Throne only cuts those who are unworthy of it.”

They lock eyes for a moment. Daenerys wonders if Sansa knows what she means by this, how much she means by this. That she would kneel before the throne and let Sansa rule her. It embarrasses her, almost, so she breaks the gaze and returns her attentions to Sansa's cunt, circling her fingers with her tongue, moaning at the sharp taste filling her mouth.

Sansa yanks her hair again. “Touch yourself for me.”

Dany doesn't exactly need much encouragement to obey that order. She pushes one hand beneath the waist of the leather trousers she wore from Dragonstone, too thick for the heat of King's Landing, but she didn't have time to change. She's surprised by how wet she finds herself, with no more than a finger on her clit and Sansa's cunt filling her mouth. She moans as she rubs in tight, desperate circles.

She does not know when or how she began this fantasy, after they've been wed so long, why she would suddenly want to be ruled and not ruler. Perhaps there is a touch of insecurity to it. After all, Jon and Sansa are a part of each others pasts, whereas she is just a part of their present. Perhaps she fears they will always mean more to each other than she does because of that. She knows it is harder for them to tell how much they mean to her because of that.

Well there are worse ways to prove a point. Sansa's thighs cling tighter around her neck and she pulls Dany closer, until it's almost a struggle to breathe, but she's not afraid. She is the Mother of Dragons who walked through fire unburnt; she's not afraid of drowning in her wife's cunt. She moans and touches herself faster as Sansa thrusts against her face, cries of pleasure growing higher and louder. “Yes, yes – that's it, Dany–”

A tremble comes over Sansa's whole frame and she cries out loud enough for the whole castle to hear, then she clenches hard around Dany's fingers and releases. Dany feels her queen's cunt fluttering beneath her lips and then a shiver overwhelms her; pleasure coils tight in her belly and then she peaks, with a choked, desperate sound disappearing into Sansa's folds. Still, she does not cease in her lapping before Sansa's body relaxes with a loud sigh, and she pushes Dany away.

They stare at each other a moment as they recover, and Dany cleans her lips with her tongue. Sansa lets her legs fall back to the ground, and smiles at her. “Come here.”

Her hands are still in Dany's hair, but she only pulls gently now, pulling Dany up to kiss her. Dany moans and parts her lips, letting Sansa's tongue collect the taste of herself from her mouth. Daenerys remembers, as she sometimes does, that her wife is a lot taller than her.

Sansa is still smiling when she breaks the kiss. “Well that was a surprise,” she says, breathless.

“I like surprising you,” Dany answers her, and Sansa laughs.

“I know. But still. If I'd had some warning, I could have put more effort in.” Dany raises an eyebrow at that, and Sansa smirks. “I'm sure the Mother of Dragons could have taken it rougher than that.”

Dany bites her lip. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Oh, does it?” Sansa says innocently, and they both chuckle.

Then a silence falls, and a contemplative look crosses Sansa's face. “You know, you don't have to prove anything,” she says, stroking Dany's hair softly and catching her off-guard. “Jon and I both know you love us. You don't have to kneel in front of the Iron Throne to show it.”

Dany hesitates, blushes, and averts her eyes. “I know,” she mutters – and really she does know, even if she does feel vaguely insecure sometimes. She doesn't think she could have done this if she didn't now. She thinks it over a second, then meets Sansa's eye again, grinning. “But if I enjoy proving it, why shouldn't I?”

A pause, and then Sansa returns her grin. “Well. You make an excellent point there, Your Grace.”


End file.
